Something worth fighting for
by kmmi95
Summary: When Sherlock has to visit 221B after his fall from St Bart's, what does he find? Will both Sherlock and John find something worth fighting for?


Sherlock Holmes snuck into the flat, he had been watching from outside, hidden in the shadows for hours waiting for the signs that John had gone to bed. Sherlock had avoided watching John himself however; it had been two weeks since Sherlock had thrown himself off St Bart's to convince John and the assassins he was dead. He had no desire to see what his 'death' had done to his blogger. John was a man of heart and trust and Sherlock knew without having to even see the older man that he was a broken shell of his former self. He said he wasn't going to come back to the flat, the chances of being caught far too high, but there was simply some things that he needed, of course he couldn't take noticeable things like the violin, in fact Sherlock even at one point had the idea of taking John, pulling John into hiding with him but he knew that would not work he needed his blogger on the outside so people did not connect the dots.

It killed him that he had to tear his best friend apart for them to stay alive, that why he stayed away also. He didn't think he had the strength to leave if John told him not to. Which of course the blogger would, but as he climbed the stairs he pushed those thoughts away, he needed to focus and worrying about John was not going to help him do so. He should have known better than to come here, he had even though about asking Mycroft to come instead of him but he knew that John wouldn't even let Mycroft in the flat, a nice bruise was forming on Mycroft's face from when he tried to talk to John the last time. Sherlock had been made to stifle his laughter on watching his brother getting knocked to the ground by John.

He pushed the door to the flat open quietly, sneaking inside; he scanned the room searching for that simple thing. Of course Moriarty would hide clues around the bloody flat. Just as he found what he was looking for there was a strange noise. It sounds like a cross between a whimper and a sound of pain. Neither sound was good Sherlock thought, so he would go and investigate. On hearing the sound again he realised that it was coming from what was/is his bedroom, again he quietly walked across the floor and lightly pushed open the door afraid of what was awaiting his eyes.

There was a body in his bed, it was alive, there was movement around the area of its chest, and it was asleep apparently, but it was shaking whether in fear or anger Sherlock could not deduce due to not being able to see the face. But he didn't need to see its face. He knew that it was terror, he also knew that the body would be crying that one hand was clutching the light blue scarf that was placed there and the other would be pulling at dusty blond hair that was cut into a short cut still but it was longer than normal. The person in the bed was John.

The sounds were still coming from John's mouth but Sherlock was frozen. He had never seen John like this before. He was not just shaking but he seemed to be vibrating, there was an air of desperation around him. He would not as well kept as he usual was, and Sherlock could tell the man had a lot of weight in the short time he had been away.

Suddenly John turned over and Sherlock noticed the light glinting off the tear tracks that mapped the ex-solder's face.  
>"Sherlock." Said the man's voice. It sounded so broken, so alone, so desperate that Sherlock thought what was left of his heart had just shattered.<br>"SHERLOCK, DON'T!" The shout made Sherlock jump. "SHERLOCK, PLEASE." Said John, sobs racking his sleeping frame.

Sherlock at that broke his rules. Without thinking of the implications, he climbed into the bed next to his best friend, and pulled the older man into his body. It seemed to be an immediate change, as soon as Sherlock's body was wrapped around John's the nightmare disappeared. The lighter haired man sighed and snuggled closer into Sherlock. Sherlock smiled.

The happiness was short lived however as he knew he would have to leave John again soon, the idea tore at his heart more than he would like to admit. He realised in that moment, his arms wrapped around John's frame and John clutching on to himself, that he was in love with the man next to him.

His heartbeat quickened every time he was near John, his palms became sweaty, he was consistently worrying about the older man's safety, the idea of leaving him was like a physical ache in his chest, as if he had left part of himself behind.

Sherlock's breath became quicker. But he had never been in love; he didn't know how to be in love. Give him a murder to solve and he was happy but give him a matter of the heart and he was confused.

Sherlock sat for a good few hours contemplating his feelings for this flat mate. As the sun started to rise he was startled from his thoughts, he looked down at John, there was a peace there on John's face that Sherlock knew had not been there for a while. Sherlock disentangled himself from John, detaching himself completely apart from holding hands with the ex-solider. He leaned over and lightly kissed John's forehead.  
>"I will come back and say this to you when are more responsive, but I love you John Hamish Watson, and I am coming back to you, never doubt that." Sherlock stroked his finger over John's knuckles before letting go of the hand and turning away.<p>

Just as his hand was on the door handle there was a voice from behind him.  
>"Love you too Sherlock." Sherlock turned, dread in his stomach building that John would be awake, but he was not. John's eyes were still closed and there was a large smile gracing his features.<p>

* * *

><p>John woke up, the sun streaming through the curtains. He felt refreshed which was a feeling he had no felt for two weeks. He had slept the full night without waking which was not normal for him since the fall. He had woken at least twice a night in a sweat screaming of Sherlock. John remembered the familiar nightmare beginning but it stopped, when Sherlock came down from the ledge and joined John, still breathing before wrapping his arms around John, and telling him that he had to go away for a while but that he would be back for John and that he would tell him again later, but he loved him.<p>

John rolled over and his eyes became wide. The part of the bed next to him was warm, and it smelled like Sherlock, not the fading smell that was still lingering on the sheets but a new smell, as if the detective had just vacated the spot. John laughed; a deep chuckle and tears sprang to his eyes. Sherlock had been there the night before; there were small differences to the room that John noticed. He had been there. Sherlock was not dead.

John walked around for the next 12 months happier, a new bounce in his step and a new lust for life. Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson worried slightly but Mycroft simply smiled.  
>"Maybe he found something to make him smile." Said the older Holmes. "Maybe a promise was made." Mycroft grinned, a slight not many of them had seen before. Mycroft knew everything that had happened that night and was aware of what was going on.<p>

John had found a new lease for life, something to fight for, and Sherlock had found something to come back to. They had finally found each other at a new depth, and Mycroft couldn't be happier for them.


End file.
